Fred Hesser

Alirio hurried down the concrete passage, ostensibly following Koya though there was nowhere to go but straight ahead. Koya had ignored a few dozen identical metal doors that lined the halls down here, below the Taskmaster’s compound. Between them, Jean Claude groaned and let himself be dragged along.

“Where are we going?” Alirio gasped out between breaths.

“We have less than ten minutes before surveillance on this level is back up,” Koya’s head made a jerk and he sped up, making Alirio stumble just a bit as he tried to keep pace, “before that happens we have to get out of the compound.”

“You know a way?” Alirio asked.

Koya nodded, “There’s a service elevator the Johns and Janes use. Leads to a tertiary launch site for emergency use. Sensors in the bay have been out for about a month, but it’s not a priority repair. Nobody worries about Does.”

“What about the one who helped you?” asked Alirio.

Koya smiled, “That’s my Jane. Nobody sees my Jane coming.”

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“Nobody escapes,” Alirio said, very sure of it.

“Shaysh who?” the soldier smiled. Or tried to. His attempt made his face even more terrifying.

“Nobody ever has,” Alirio shook his head as he said it.

“Eshcapesh happen all the time,” the soldier insisted, “Maybe not from thish island, not in a long time, but they happen.”

“Surely we would know…,” Alirio started to say.

“Why? ‘Caushe the Mashtersh would be real eager to sshare that with their shlaves?” the soldier made his horrific smile again.

The soldier picked up his helmet, examining the rim and the visor before speaking again.

“Look. I’m gonna make it shimple,” he put the helmet on, his voice replaced with the deep, clear tone that characterized the Taskmaster’s soldiers, “You do exactly as I say, and I’ll help you and your lover escape.”

Alirio narrowed his eyes, “This is a trick.”

“No tricks,” the soldier stood, “Either I blame you for breaking your friend out of here, or…” the soldier made a gesture with his hand, as if implying the rest of his sentence was obvious.

“Or what?” Alirio asked

“Or,” the soldier rested his hand on his pistol, “I could just kill the both of you.”

Alirio looked to the door.

The soldier shook his head, “I wouldn’t.”

Alirio slowly nodded, “If you think you can…I mean…I’m not even sure what we’d do with our freedom.”

“Anything you want,” the soldier said, “That’s the idea.”

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The pain made everything a blur. Alirio could tell he was being dragged somewhere, then hefted onto something, but it was all a vague, broad strokes sort of awareness. All the details eluded him, as even with the implant off, his entire body was still howling with the lingering pain. He could hear somebody whispering over him.

“…knows what it’s about?…the other one…no chance….I’ll sign the order. The Johns won’t question it…”

Alirio couldn’t be sure, but he thought it might be two voices. He blacked out, somewhat aware that he was in a bed, but not in the slave quarters.

When he came to, he was in a room filled with tones of beige. Everything from the walls, the floor, even the sheets of his bed were some variation of a sandy color. A small drone, smaller than Alirio’s head, hovered near the door.

“Good Morning,” it chirped, “Please do not move, as you may injure yourself further.”

Alirio didn’t move. He dared not defy the drone now.

Moments later a human entered the through the door behind the drone. Not a slave, this one dressed in one of the collaborator uniforms.

“Hello, Alirio,” the man said, more chipper than the drone, “My name if John Doe, but you may call me John if you’d like.”

Alirio still didn’t move, just watched the man as he pulled a chair from the far wall over to Alirio’s bed. He was short, with milky pale skin and brown hair, and the back of his neck was covered in small bits of metal poking through his skin. Some flat, some indented into his neck, and a few that stuck out like needles themselves. Alirio had seen this on some of the other collaborators. Most of whom looked just like John Doe. The pale man set a small case down on the bedside table, opening it to reveal several needle tipped devices.

The terror must have reached Alirio’s face, because John Doe smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll just be probing your implant a bit. You will feel a negligible amount of pain.”

John removed one needled device, pulling at the end to reveal a meter’s length of slim cable that somehow had been concealed within the pencil sized implement. He then rolled up his sleeve, revealing more of the metal sticking up through his arm. He held the end of the cable up to one of the little bits of metal on his skin, and there was a click as they came together. He took the other end, holding it exactly like a pencil, and with his free hand pulled the collar of Alirio’s shirt down just a bit.

Alirio cringed as he saw the needle coming closer to his flesh.

“Excessive movement could damage the probe, or yourself,” John Doe said, still smiling, “Please try to be still.”

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Alirio heaved the skid forward, throwing all his weight into the ore laden package along with three other slaves.

He didn’t know their names.

More than thirty slaves had died in Alirio’s barracks in the last month.

Ebola.

The Taskmasters had sent in a doctor with a cure, eventually. Curing the disease took mere minutes with the Taskmasters’ medicine, but the doctor had stayed for three days delivering a series of lectures about cleanliness, protocol, and a ‘heartfelt’ speech about how the world outside the slave barracks was full of horrors like that.

The fact that the first three infectees had been sneaking extra food into the barracks had surely been a “coincidence.”

It was important to follow the rules, the Taskmasters’ doctor had said, apropos of nothing.

They’d brought in new people to fill out the empty bunks yesterday. Most of the new arrivals came from the mainland, far away from the Ascenseur, and most of them had spent the evening gawking at the massive pillar of carbon and metal that went from the ground, all the way up beyond the sight of human eyes.

All the way to space.

One had been caught staring up at the thing during the march from their transport to the barracks, and stalled the line. Two the Taskmasters’ soldiers pulled him aside and beat him for that. They didn’t even bother to use the compliance implant, just threw him to the ground and kicked him till he was coughing blood.

With a final groan of effort, the four of them finished pushing the skid up the ramp and into the cargo hauler. A security drone hovered just inside the door, demanding the four slaves pause for scanning. They did, and Alirio felt a brief but sharp pain in his chest as the drone tested the compliance implant. It cleared them and they finished securing the skid inside, next to a hundred other skids full of tungsten ore.

Alirio didn’t know what they needed so much tungsten for. He doubted he’d ever know.

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